


Learning to Fly

by MoreMarrMoreMoz



Category: Morrissey (Musician), The Smiths
Genre: Cute, Fear, Flying, M/M, Marrissey, Phobias, Secret Relationship, Short, Short & Sweet, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 18:02:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9453434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoreMarrMoreMoz/pseuds/MoreMarrMoreMoz
Summary: Where Johnny comforts Morrissey over his fear of flying (Johnny POV).Inspired by the section of Set the Boy Free where Johnny talks about Morrissey's phobia of flying.Short, but I wanted to write something cutesy with hand holding.





	

Tension hangs heavy within the cabin. Moz's fear is palpable, seeping over the arm rest that separates us until it's not only within him, it's within me too; my heart whirring like the propellers I can see out of the corner of my eye. Thank God I took the window seat. Morrissey's already a wreck, beads of sweat working their way out of his pores, and we're not even on the ascent. He's never liked flying, despite it being a necessity for the band, but this is on a whole other level. This is full-on phobia, not some half-hearted dislike. I can see the fall and rise of his chest is uneven despite his chunky cable knit sweater, one I'd bought him for Christmas but that he'd told Andy and Mike was from his mum. We don't give presents in the band, it's just not the done thing, and even if we did it'd never be clothes. Only lovers buy each other clothes.

"Are you alright?" I whisper, leaning in until the warm caress of his quickened breaths reverberate off my cheek.

Our eyes connect, his beautiful baby blues so at odds with the murky brown of my own. I always think I could look into those eyes forever - drown in them - but today they're so full of anxiety that I can hardly hold his gaze.

He shakes his head, unable to speak.

As the plane lurches forward along the runway his body tenses further, until his shoulders are almost level with his ear lobes. 

The nose lifts, gravity pushing our bodies back against the faux-leather seats. 

"Johnny." His voice is strangled, a broken cry for help, and I no longer give a fuck what Mike, Andy or anyone else thinks. All I know is that Moz needs me now more than ever, and if I can calm even a fraction of the fear he's feeling then it's a risk worth taking.

My hand meets his, our fingers instinctively knitting together the way they have thousands of time before, but only ever in private. His palm is clammy, his mount of venus pulsating viscerally against mine.

I gently squeeze.

"It's okay," I soothe. "I'm here. Johnny's here."

As the wheels leave the runway and we give ourselves over to the sky he tightens his grip. The pads of his finger tips press down on my knuckles until it almost hurts, but it's not important. Nothing's important. Nothing except him, and me, and us, weightless and free as we leave the world below.


End file.
